


Five Times Tony Stark Saved an Avenger, and One Time They Saved Him

by Yamx



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Bad Parenting, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamx/pseuds/Yamx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's definitely a T in "Team."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Canaan and Sahiya for betaing.

Steve stood on the steps of the bank, answering press questions. Fury didn't like them to talk to reporters before debrief, but Steve always felt the Avengers had nothing to hide from the American public. And this mission had been very straightforward anyway. A superpowered teenager and his mutant best friend thought the best thing to do with what they'd been given was to use it to take other people's hard-earned money. 

"The boys have been handed over to the proper authorities, and I'm confident that the New York justice system will deal with them fairly," he said with his best Captain America smile.

It wasn't a line. Steve believed in the system.

A young lady reporter— _female reporter_ , Steve mentally corrected himself, or just _reporter_ —stuck out her microphone. "Captain, what do you have to say about the claims made by Andrea Sullivan?"

Steve searched his memory. He was almost sure he'd never heard that name before, but she might be one of the countless starlets and celebrities everyone in this decade just assumed to be a household name. "Claims?" he asked.

The gaggle of reporters erupted like a swarm of angry hornets. 

"Captain," the young reporter elaborated, the aggressive sneer on her face mirrored in her voice. "About an hour ago, Ms. Sullivan went on national television claiming that you're the father of her unborn child."

Steve's breath stopped. He didn't know what to say. It was impossible. Not only had he never met this woman, he'd never... Well, Steve was just really sure he wasn't anyone's father. But should he tell that to the press? Was this one of those "death knells" the PR people were always warning them about? Would anyone even believe him? "Kid's not mine, I never touched the bird," had been an old, tired line even in the forties.

Suddenly, Tony was by his side. He was still in his armor, but had the faceplate up, giving the press his most blinding smile. "Oh, come on, guys. You know better than that."

All the reporters started yelling over each other. "Is this a denial?" "What do you know about the situation?" "What's the nature of Captain Rogers' relationship with—"

Tony hooked his left arm around Steve's right, squeezing his biceps reassuringly. For a moment, Steve almost lost himself in wonder at the fine motor control the gauntlets allowed, but then a blinding flash right in his face snapped him back to reality. He saw that Tony's other hand was raised and he was waiting patiently, with a wide smile, for the press to calm down.

Amazingly, they did.

"Seriously, folks," Tony said, sounding easy and relaxed as if this was a dinner party, not a disaster for the Avengers' reputation and Steve's good name. "You may have thought you could spring this on Steve and surprise him into some misstep that you could feast on for weeks. But this is me. And you all know how often I've been around this particular block." He grinned. "With no results, I might add. If _Tony Stark_ hasn't been caught in a valid paternity claim yet, does anyone really think it's going to happen to Captain America?"

There were some chuckles from the press corps. The young reporter in the front looked mutinous. Before she could say anything, Tony continued.

"Now, guys, you know the drill. The Captain will, of course, agree to a paternity test."

Steve nodded. He wasn't entirely sure how those worked, but if Tony thought they could prove the truth in some modern scientific way, he was all for it. 

Some of the reporters started shouting questions again, but Tony just smiled and waited them out. "We will make no further comment until we have the test results."

"What if it's a match?" a middle-aged, boorish-looking man shouted. 

Tony's just rolled his eyes. "Oh please. Do any of you really believe that?"

The young redhead from earlier spoke up. "For argument's sake?" She sounded a lot less demanding than a minute ago.

Tony sighed. "Steve, tell these nice people what you'd do if by some miracle of nature, the kid did turn out to be yours." The mere thought made Steve's head spin. Tony smiled reassuringly. "Just tell the truth," he added, loud enough for the reporters to hear.

Steve swallowed and nodded. "If the child was mine, of course I'd take full responsibility and marry Ms. Sullivan."

The reporters exploded again. 

Tony chuckled. He waited till the first barrage of excitement had calmed down and raised his voice. "Clearly, our Captain's not aware of modern protocol for cases like that. Not that he _needs_ to be." He looked around with a wide grin, but challenge in his eyes. "That enough for you vultures? We all know it won't come to that, but if it did, Captain Rogers would do the right thing."

There was a quiet murmur off assent. 

"Just one more qu—" an Asian looking woman started.

"No. No more questions." Tony suddenly sounded cold, cutting, harder than Steve had ever heard him. "We gave you what you wanted, and more than you needed. Now, you will drop the matter. Captain Rogers will undergo the test if and when Ms. Sullivan provides her samples. Until then, you will leave us alone about this. No more questions about this issue sprung on him, or any other Avenger. Or our friends, family, coworkers, and staff. Basically, shut up about it till there are real facts.

"Further, I'm under no illusion that you'll keep this out of your assorted rags until there's actually something factual to report. But I'd like to remind you all that I have an excellent legal department. And believe me, it's at Captain Rogers' disposal in this matter. So be very, very careful what you write. Quoting what the woman said, and what we said just now, is fine. Any unfounded allegations, inferences, rumors and speculations, and we will try very, very hard to make a libel charge stick." He grinned wolfishly. Steve had never heard him sound so scary, not even in mid-battle when challenging their attackers. "More than a few of you can ask your bosses how conflicts with my legal department tend to go. None of you will like the answers."

The reporters were quiet. All of them looked solemn, some downright intimidated. 

"Now," Tony continued, "Are there any final questions _about today's mission_?"

The young redhead spoke up again. She looked chastised, all earlier aggression gone. "Thank you for the interview, Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark. And—" She visibly swallowed. "Thank you for your service."

There was a mumble of assent. Someone in the back cheered. Tony's grip on Steve's arm tightened and he pulled him towards the nearest SHIELD vehicle. "Here's where you make a graceful exit." A SHIELD agent opened the backdoor and Steve let himself drop onto the seat. 

Tony bent down so their faces were at the same height. "We'll talk when we get back to the tower. But listen to me: do not be worried." He closed the car door and signaled the driver, who took off before Steve could get out the "I'm not."

As he sank back into the soft car seat and reached for his seat belt, he felt a smile spread on his face. He wasn't worried. Not with Tony Stark on his side.


	2. Thor

"My friends!" Thor greeted Tony and Bruce as he came into the kitchen. "You're up early this morning!" Tony rubbed his temples to ward of the headache Thor's booming voice was threatening to inflict. 

Bruce smiled wryly. "Never went to bed, I'm afraid. We got a bit caught up in our project. Still working on the low cost, no labor water filtration system."

"A noble pursuit." Thor nodded. 

"How come you're up so early, Brad?" Tony asked, looking at Thor over the edge of his tablet. Thor wasn't any more of an early riser than he or Bruce. In fact, Steve was the only early riser in the tower—Tony and Bruce had met him on their way up from the lab. He'd been leaving to go for a run—"Not far, just Coney Island." Tony wished he could think Steve'd been kidding.

"I have a long journey to undertake." 

"To see Jane?" Bruce asked. "I thought her birthday wasn't until tomorrow?" 

Jane's birthday was coming up? Huh. Had Thor mentioned that before? Probably. He talked about her all the time, but Tony usually tuned out the effusive laudations. Should Stark Industries send flowers, to thank her for the cooperation on Project Bifrost? Ah, Pepper was probably already on it.

"'Tis indeed, but I first must acquire a present fit for such a lady! I am off to the country known as Siberia."

"Siberia?" Tony put down his tablet. "What on Earth are you getting her that requires you going all the way to ice cube central? And why didn't you say—I could have had whatever it is delivered."

Thor chuckled. "I doubt the Midgardian authorities would have been happy if you had. I am getting her a bear."

Tony froze. "Please tell me you mean a teddy bear. I mean, a teddy's a bit trite, as divine gifts go, but—"

"Thor," Bruce interrupted Tony's rambling, "You're not getting Jane a live bear, are you?"

"Of course not! A ridiculous notion!"

Tony felt himself relax and saw Bruce's shoulders unclench.

"I will slay the beast with my bare hands and bring my Jane the fresh, bleeding carcass!"

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge off his nose. "Thor..."

"Wait!" Tony put in. "You're saying you found some guy in fucking Siberia who's willing to sell you a live bear so you can slaughter it?"

"Just so," Thor nodded. "This 'internet' of yours is truly full of wonders. He is not even asking me for money! All he requests in return is that he be allowed to record the event on video. Indubitably to spread the tale of my victory over the beast throughout your realm."

"Indubitably," Bruce said faintly. There was a tinge of green on his cheeks, but Tony didn't think it was Hulk-related.

"JARVIS," Tony said. He stepped around the counter and grabbed Thor's biceps—a symbolic gesture, he had no illusions that he could keep Thor from going wherever the hell Thor wanted to go. "Find out who Thor has been in contact with and report them to whoever one reports this sort of stuff to in Siberia."

"At once, sir."

Thor opened his mouth to protest, but Tony cut him off, "You and I, Jeannie, are going to a little place called Tiffany's."

Thor tilted his head and looked at Bruce.

"Thor, trust me: you want to follow Tony's advice on this," Bruce said, clenching his hands in his pockets.

Thor turned to Tony, considering. "You _are_ the chosen mate of the fair and valiant Lady Pepper..."

"And one big part of why is because I've never tried to delight her with the carcasses of my kills." He caught his wallet, which Bruce had thoughtfully tossed him. Good thinking. "I'm Tony fucking Stark" usually got you goods and services regardless, but a black Amex made it easier. "Tiffany's, and then maybe FAO Schwartz. Because a teddy suddenly sounds like a great idea." 

He could hear Bruce's quiet chuckle as he steered Thor towards the elevator.


	3. Clint

Steve froze in the kitchen doorway. He barely noticed Tony bumping into him at the sudden stop. Clint and Agent Coulson were arguing! They never argued. He shifted his weight, preparing to turn and give them privacy, but Tony was standing fixed. Short of Steve physically picking him up, he clearly wasn't going to move. 

"You cannot be fucking serious!"

"I'm sorry, Clint. The new regulations are—"

"I've read them! But I started the program three years ago! Why can't I be—granted in?"

"Grandfathered. And that's only allowed for agents who have only one semester left in—"

"I have two! You're telling me because of one bloody semester too many, SHIELD would rather throw out all the money they've already put into my education than allow me to go over the new 'maximum tuition' limit?"

Coulson shifted, looking more uncomfortable than Steve had ever seen him. This was a man enforcing a rule he thought was entirely idiotic, but could do nothing about. "If you were in the top five percent of your class, we could apply for—"

Clint smashed his hand down on the counter. "Well, I'm not, and I never will be! I get Bs and a few As, and I work damn hard for those!" His eyes flashed. "I'm not the genius on this team, but I've given this my all, and I just want to finish my damn—" His pacing took him close to the door and he stopped when he saw Steve and Tony. 

"Um... hi?" Steve said.

Clint was breathing heavily. "What?"

"I didn't know you were going for a degree," Tony said, trying for jovial.

"Yeah, it's nothing a genius like you would be interested in. No fancy PhD for me. Turns out I won't even be getting the damn Bachelor's I've worked for."

"I don't have a PhD. Bruce has two, though." Tony shrugged. "Never had the patience. What are you studying?"

"What _was_ I studying." Clint kicked the table leg and didn't actually answer the question.

Coulson did. "Combat math." He opened his briefcase and pulled out a brochure he handed to Tony. "It's a specialized course of study only available at a private military academy in Omaha. They don't usually do distance learning, but they made an exception for Clint."

"Unlike my fucking employer, who now won't let me finish because tuition's too high."

"Wait—" Tony said. He glanced over the brochure and handed it to Steve. "So SHIELD's poured three year's worth of tuition into this and now they're going to flush that down the drain rather than letting you finish a degree that's immediately relevant to your job?"

"Got it in one, Stark."

Tony shook his head. "Ladies and gentlemen, my tax dollars at work." Steve would have disapproved of the hubris, only Tony probably did pay enough taxes to make up an substantial part of SHIELD's budget.

Steve looked over the curriculum and study goals. Combat efficiency analysis, battlefield stochastics, ways to calculate relative firepower on the fly, collateral damage quotients, best allocation of resources, supply chains.... "Clint—this is all brilliant stuff. You've always been a good tactician, but this would be a boon to—"

"Well it's not fucking gonna be, is it?" Clint snatched the brochure back and threw it at Coulson. 

Tony grinned. "Of course it is."

Clint turned to him. "What?"

"Congratulations," Tony said with a flourish. "You've been awarded the Stark Scholarship for Victims of Stupid Bureaucrats." 

Clint stared. "You don't even know how much it is."

Tony's grin widened. "It really doesn't matter." Steve worried his lower lip. This wasn't as easy as Tony seemed to think.

Coulson cleared his throat. "Mr. Stark, your offer is generous, but not reasonable. We're talking about a hundred thousand dollars—"

"Is that all? I spend more than that on feeding this one." He gestured to Steve.

Steve ducked his head. He knew Tony was teasing, but as a Depression kid, he'd never quite gotten over the guilt for how much food he needed since the transformation.

Tony nudged Steve's ribs with his elbow. "A hundred thousand's barely real money to me."

Steve winced. That had been exactly the wrong thing to say. Looking up, he saw Clint's eyes go cold. 

"I don't want your money."

Tony looked genuinely confused. "But, Clint—"

"I don't want your fucking money, Stark! You can't solve everything with money."

"No, not everything. Just—lots of things. Including this." Steve grimaced and firmly reminded himself that Tony couldn't be blamed for not understanding how poor people felt about money. 

"I'm not your goddamn charity case!" 

"No, you're my team mate. Which is why you getting this degree might be relevant to my immediate survival. So shut up and take the money!"

Clint hesitated for a moment, but then he set his jaw and shook his head.

Tony sighed. "All right then." He stood up a little straighter and squared his shoulders in what Steve thought of as his business pose. "JARVIS?"

"Sir?"

"Donate a hundred thousand dollars to the Westboro Baptist Church."

"What?" Clint gasped. Coulson's face darkened, but only for a moment; then the calm mask slipped back into place. 

Steve frowned. Why was everyone acting as if Tony donating to a church was a bad thing? But then he remembered the news coverage of people with colorful "God hates" posters picketing the funerals of fallen soldiers. "No." He put a hand on Tony's arm. "You don't want to do that."

"Of course I don't want to do that!" Tony's voice was cutting and full of annoyance. "I want to invest the money in Clint's degree. A degree that one day might save my ass or yours on the battlefield, by the way. Or a busload of kindergarteners." He rubbed a hand over his arc reactor. "But if Clint won't let me, I'll give the money to Westboro instead." He looked at Clint challengingly. "Choice is yours. JARVIS, countdown of ten."

"Ten."

"Fucking hell, Stark, you can't seriously—"

"Nine."

"I'm completely serious, Birdie. Take it or it goes to Phelps."

"Eight." 

Tony looked up. "By the way, JARVIS, cover our tracks there."

"Seven. Of course, sir. The donation will be untraceable. Six."

"Tony..." Clint said in what was almost a whine. Steve looked to Coulson, and realized the agent was watching Clint with barely hidden hope. _He thinks this will work. And he wants it to._

"Five. It seems likely that such a sum will be used for a recruitment drive. Four."

"Fuck." Clint threw up his hands. "All right, you win!"

"Three."

"You're going to accept the money? No backsies?"

"Two."

"Yes! God, yes! Just stop this!"

"One."

"JARVIS, stop the countdown."

"Gladly, sir."

Clint swore under his breath. "You!" He stabbed a finger at Tony. "You're a complete asshole. Even when you're being awesome." 

"I try." Tony grinned. "Just log into your school account from any computer in the tower. JARVIS will fill in the payment details." 

A smile tugged at the corner of Clint's mouth. "Thanks. You jerk."

Tony laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note because I've been asked: Yes, Tony is bluffing, and JARVIS knows it. (I'm firmly convinced that those two have a pre-agreed signal that means, "Everything I say from now on is a bluff, but play along." Because that's Tony for you.)
> 
> So there was never any danger of the money really going to the Westboro Baptist Church. In fact, the WBC doesn't even accept outside donations—but luckily, Clint didn't know that. ;)


	4. Natasha

Tony was alone in the kitchen—which, to be fair, maybe wasn't that surprising at 4 a.m. He was sitting on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, sipping a large mug of coffee. If he didn't seriously up his caffeine levels, he'd need to sleep soon.

Natasha stormed in, barely glancing at him. She was carrying a package tightly wrapped in what seemed to be several plastic bags. With a stream of angry Russian, she slammed it into the trashcan. 

Tony blinked. 

Natasha glared at him. "What?"

"Did you just say, 'Why can't anyone in this country manufacture a decent vibrator'?" Tony asked. 

Natasha stopped short. "Since when do you speak Russian?"

"Umm... last week?" And maybe this hadn't been the best time to alert Natasha to that fact. He'd meant it to be a surprise, but...

Natasha took a deep breath and pointed a sharp-nailed finger at his chest. "Yes. That is what I said. Are you going to say anything about it?"

Tony raised both hands, leaning back on the stool as far as he could without falling off. "Only—hi, I'm Tony Stark, foremost engineer in the country."

Natasha paused. Wow. He'd rendered the Black Widow speechless twice in one conversation. This would be a day to tell his grandkids about. If he survived it. Once they turned eighteen. 

"Are you serious?" she asked.

"No," Tony deadpanned. "I'm so utterly shocked at the notion that a woman might want a good quality sex toy that I'm just babbling randomly. Because my name is Steve Rogers."

Natasha snorted. She grabbed a note pad from the fridge and started scribbling on it—two sketches and a bullet point list. She held it out to him. "Can you do this?"

Tony took the pad and quickly looked over the specs. "Yep." 

"What do you want in exchange?"

Tony shook his head. He gestured in a way that he hoped indicated the living room, the bedrooms, the generously stocked pantry and fridge. "I don't take payment for providing my friends' basic needs."

Natasha's face turned curiously soft for a moment. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "Any color preferences?" 

"Silver." Huh. And here Tony had been sure she'd say black. 

"Give me till tomorrow." He glanced at the kitchen clock. "Well, technically later today. Barring Avenging emergencies, I can have this done in a few hours."

The hard glare was back. "If you tell anyone—"

"You'll eviscerate me with a spoon." He winked. 

Natasha smiled. "If you're lucky." She kissed him on the cheek. Tony thought he felt heat creeping up his neck. But that was ridiculous—Tony Stark didn't blush. "Good night." She turned and left.

Tony looked down at the specs again. He carefully removed the first three sheets—you never knew—pocketed them, and put the pad back in its usual place. "Jarvis, cook me up some silver-dyed silicone. Medical grade, variety of hardnesses."

"I'll instruct the manufacturing bots to start immediately, sir."

"Great. I'll be down in the lab by the time you're done." He yawned. He really needed a few hours of sleep first. He wanted to be at the top of his game for this. Tony Stark's friends got nothing but the very best gadgets.


	5. Bruce

Bruce fiddled with his tie. God, why had he let Tony talk him into this? He hadn't liked the New York Science Gala even before... But Tony had convinced him that it would be fun, arguing that he needed to start going out amongst people again, and what better place than a swanky party full of eggheads? He had a point, Bruce knew. And Steve had volunteered the rest of the team for security, so there'd been no good reason to say no. 

But the looks he'd been getting... Bruce nervously reached for another glass of water from a waiter's tray. He looked around for the team. Tony was leaning at the bar, chatting with a buxom blonde, yet another cocktail clasped in his hand and the next one waiting on the bar. Steve and Thor were near the main entrance. Bruce couldn't see Clint or Nat. The archer was probably perched somewhere near the ceiling—possibly on one of the gilded chandeliers. And Nat had melted into either the shadows or the crowd. 

The speeches had been boring—mostly awards given to various scientists in recognition of some achievement or other that he'd read about in the relevant journals months ago. He'd clapped politely—good work deserved recognition, of course. But he didn't think anyone here was eager for his recognition in particular. 

The people who'd talked to him at all—mostly finagled into it by Tony—all kept the conversations short and frosty. The only ones who seemed to want to converse with him started digging for details on the super-soldier serum almost immediately. And since Bruce completely refused to discuss that subject, those conversations remained short, too. 

Another speaker took the stage. Doctor Gregory Mason—molecular chemist, if Bruce remembered correctly, and one of the board members organizing the gala. 

"Ladies and gentleman, I'm about to give out a _very special award_. And I have to say, it'll go to an unusually deserving candidate this year. The board was very glad when we saw him on the guest list." His voice was snide, and there were snickers from the audience that made the hair on Bruce's neck stand up. 

There was a dissonant sound of drums, and brief flare-up of lights, and huge letters were projected on the wall behind the speaker. _The Anti-Award_.

Mason continued. "Tonight's recipient is especially deserving. In fact, we'd have _honored_ him long ago, but he hasn't attended this gala in years." 

Bruce felt cold sweat all over his body. Nat materialized at his elbow. "They didn't," she hissed. 

Bruce swallowed. The room seemed to close in. "Pretty sure they did."

"Tonight, the award goes to someone whose experimental practice has shown unprecedented levels of carelessness for himself and his fellow man." 

Nat took his arm. "We're leaving."

"We can't. Everyone's looking." It was true. Hostile glances were directed at him from what felt like everyone in the room. Bruce raised his chin. He could go through with this. "It's not like they're wrong."

"Tonight's recipient was so sure of—" 

A loud clash came from the back of the room, then the sound of shattering glass and startled shouts. Everyone turned. 

Tony was standing in a mess of shards, metal, and different colored liquids. "Fuck!" he shouted. "Damndamndamn..." His speech was slurred, his eyes unfocussed. "I just... just wanted to say... THANK YOU! Thank you all for this beau-ti-ful gala, and the food, and the girls!" He grabbed towards the buxom blond from earlier, but she took a hasty step back with a glare, and he missed. "I just meant—" He retched, and those around him quickly cleared a wide circle. 

Natasha on Bruce's left was suddenly joined by Clint, who grabbed his right arm. "Going now." They steered him towards the exit, navigating along the walls. Bruce couldn't take his eyes off Tony, stumbling along the middle aisle towards the stage. "Shouldn't we help—"

Their grips on him tightened. "Steve's on it," Clint said, gesturing with his chin. He was right—Bruce noticed Steve making his way as quickly as possible through the dense crowd towards Tony.

They reached the door at almost the same time as Tony stumbled onto the stage and grabbed the mic from Mason, slurring barely comprehensible obscenities. Steve was starting up the stairs when Clint and Nat manhandled Bruce out the door and into the lobby. 

When they reached the curb, they found Thor had already summoned Happy. Clint opened the door and waited outside as the others climbed in. 

"Happy, keep the engine running, Steve and Tony should be here any minute," Natasha said. The driver nodded.

Bruce watched through the open door as Steve half-carried, half-dragged Tony, who kept stumbling over his own feet and singing off-key, to the car. They were followed by a small cloud of press photographers, shooting what not that long ago would have been dozens of rolls of film. 

Clint helped manhandle Tony into a seat and closed the door behind them. "Happy, go!" The car took off.

"Everyone all right?" Steve asked, looking at Bruce. 

Bruce nodded. 

Steve turned back to Tony. "Goddammit, Stark, can't you keep it together for one bloody n—" He stopped when he saw Tony sitting back in the seat, legs crossed, hands folded atop them, and a sardonic smirk on his face. Steve blinked. His eyes darted from Tony to Bruce and back. "Oh." He rubbed his neck. "Good work."

Tony smiled. "Thank you, Cap." His enunciation was perfectly clear.

Once Bruce got it, he was embarrassed it had taken him this long. He blamed the stress and adrenaline. For a moment, he was flushed with gratitude that Tony would do that for him. Then he realized why. It felt like a bucket of ice. "I wouldn't have," he burst out.

Tony turned from Cap to him. "Hm?"

"I wouldn't have hulked out!" The words tasted bitter.

Tony frowned. "I know." 

Bruce stopped. Tony looked sincere. "You do?"

"Obviously. I know, the team knows—" He gestured around and got four nods. "—and even those jerkwads back there know. Do you think they'd have pulled that little stunt if they'd thought it'd get them smashed?"

Bruce leaned back to let that sink in. Tony was right. Mason and the other members of the board weren't suicidal. It seemed that all the PR work, the interviews, the news reports, had finally made the world believe that Bruce Banner was not an uncontrollable loose cannon. He took off his glasses and pulled out his pocket square to clean them. He couldn't look at Tony. "Then why?" he asked quietly.

Tony got off the bench and squatted right in front of Bruce. He used two fingers to force up Bruce's chin till they made eye contact. "Because you don't deserve to be publicly ridiculed by a bunch of people not one of whom's achieved in their life half of what you have in just the last six months." 

Bruce tried to look away, but when his eyes left Tony's, they met Steve's, looking at him with concern and empathy. And that was worse.

The experiment that had led to the Hulk had been reckless and premature. He told people he'd done it on himself because he knew he wasn't anywhere near far enough along to get the okay for human trials. But that was only half the truth. He had been so sure, so arrogant, that he couldn't imagine any outcome other than turning himself into a second Steve Rogers—and, with Steve still in the ice, that would have made him the most powerful man alive. Dammit, he'd wanted that. He cringed. 

When he'd sat in the chair in the radiation chamber, he'd been composing a Nobel Prize acceptance speech in his mind. 

Not the award he'd ended up getting. 

He looked back at Tony. "They're not wrong."

Tony hugged him. Bruce was more grateful than he could say that he didn't try to make up excuses or justifications.

Thor spoke up. "You're a good man. None of those who'd jeer and laugh as your name is dragged through the mud is fit to judge you."

"You wouldn't have gone berserk on them, Doc, but Nat and I were close," Clint said, squeezing Bruce's shoulder. He looked at Natasha over Tony's shoulder. She nodded.

Steve cleared his throat. "We've all made mistakes, Doc. God, I sure didn't know what I was doing. For all I knew, I could have ended up..." He shook his head. "But that doesn't mean those... people get to run roughshod over your good name."

Bruce took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. Tony sat down across from him again. "What about Tony's good name?"

Tony laughed. "It's more than twenty years too late to worry about that."

Steve put a hand on Tony's arm. "Tony—"

"Nah, I'm not complaining. I did a lot of dumb stuff. 'Tony Stark Makes Spectacle of Himself at Gala' will make a nice headline—it has every time before. But no one will be shocked, and the outrage will die down within a week. There'll be some angry letters, slight dip in stocks, some name calling." He shrugged. "Nothing I'm not used to." 

Bruce looked at him. "Thank you." It wasn't enough, but it was all he could think to say.

"Any time." Tony smiled. "Literally."

Bruce had no doubt he meant it.


	6. +1

"What do you mean, my father's alive?" Tony stared at the SHIELD tech numbly. When the team had been summoned to the Helicarrier, he'd expected a lot of things—most of them apocalyptic—but this wasn't one of them.

Mind, it wasn't necessarily _better_ than an apocalypse.

The SHIELD tech explained, using the smartboard in the small conference room and a bunch of printouts. Tony tried to pay attention, he really did, but his brain kept spinning around the one note— _Dad's alive_. As it always had, just knowing he was near his father made him feel stupid and incompetent. He barely heard the words. He certainly didn't process them.

When the tech finished, Tony looked at Bruce, mutely pleading for help.

Bruce understood. He knelt before Tony's chair, putting his hands on Tony's knees. "It's not important how it happened. I'll tell you later. For now, just think timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly."

Tony nodded. He tried to smile at the _Doctor Who_ reference. But everything inside him felt hollow and the smile wouldn't come.

Bruce pressed on. "It's real, but it's not permanent. Our best guess is a few hours to a day. Your father—or a version of him that's roughly in his sixties—is here. But once he returns, the tempospatial degradation—never mind, the point is, once he goes home, he won't remember this. So there's no fear of paradoxes, we can talk to him freely."

Tony nodded. He looked at the tech. "Does he know where—when he is?"

The tech nodded. "Director Fury has briefed him."

Right. Fury had known his dad, of course. 

"Why'd Fury send for us?"

"The director thought you should know." The tech shuffled his feet. Good thing he wasn't in espionage.

"Has Dad... Has he asked for me?" Tony wanted to slap himself for the tiny bit of hope kindling in his chest. When it came to his father, hope never ended well.

The tech frowned. His eyes darted to Steve, then he hastily looked back at Tony. "Not exactly."

And there it was. Tony laughed through the bitterness. "He's asked for Steve." 

The tech inspected the tips of his shoes and nodded. 

Tony jumped up and started pacing. "Of course he's asked for Steve. Here he is, in a future where, by all rights, his son should still be alive and Captain America should still be dead, and guess which one he asks for!" He slapped his hand on the conference table.

"The team needs a few minutes to discuss this. Alone." Natasha all but pushed the SHIELD tech out the door and locked it. She and Clint stood in front of it. 

"Tony—" Steve's voice sounded strangled. He hesitantly touched Tony's shoulder.

Tony whirled and poked Steve in the chest with more force than he'd intended. "Don't you dare apologize! Don't you dare." He looked up in Steve's eyes, which were suspiciously moist. "None of this is your fault. None of it. You were dead when it happened." 

Steve nodded. "I wish I could have—"

"If wishes were horses, we'd all be drowning in horse shit." Tony rubbed a hand over the arc reactor. He looked down, watching the frantic movement of his hand, unable to stop. "I... don't know what to do now," he admitted.

"The choice is yours, Tony," Thor said, in the low tone he used when he was very serious about something. "But let me tell you this—opportunities to speak to those who've gone beyond are rare, even on Asgard. But they're not unheard of. And I've known more people who've regretted passing one up than those who've regretted seizing the day." 

Tony looked at Steve. "You should go. You're the one he wants."

Steve hesitated. "It's your call. I'll go with you, or not at all."

"It's your chance to meet a friend again, someone you knew before!" 

Steve shook his head. "I don't think I knew him as well as I thought I did."

Tony sighed. He'd have to go. Never mind what he might regret in the future, he couldn't saddle Steve with yet one more regret. 

He looked around at the team, wanting to ask them to come and not quite able to get the words out. 

"Whomever you want, Tony," Bruce says. "Any of us will come with you for this, or stay here, without taking offense." 

When had 'Tony Stark, playboy without the ability to form serious emotional bonds,' turned into 'Tony Stark, please don't leave me alone'? Tony didn't know, and he didn't have the spoons to think about it right now. "Let's go." He nodded at the door. 

No one moved, everyone looking at him. He looked at Steve. "Lead on, fearless leader."

Steve looked at Tony searchingly, then nodded. "Widow, Hawkeye, scout ahead. Tony, Bruce, with me. Thor, bring up the rear." 

They silently fell into battle formation. Tony knew they didn't need it to traverse the corridors of the Helicarrier, but god, did it make him feel better. 

At the designated room, Steve stopped. He looked at Tony, raising an eyebrow. Tony gestured to the door with his chin. He wasn't sure he had the strength to walk into this room, but he knew he could follow Steve anywhere. 

Clint and Nat fell in behind Thor. Steve knocked briefly and opened the door without waiting for an answer. 

When they entered the room, Howard's eyes went straight to Steve. The smile made his whole face shine with joy.

Tony'd never seen him smile like that before. He stifled a comment and leaned against the wall by the door. Bruce and Nat leaned next to him, their shoulders touching his, offering silent support. Thor and Clint stood in front of them, careful to mostly shield Tony from view without actually blocking his line of sight. 

"Steve!" Howard almost ran around the table and pulled Steve into a tight hug. "I knew it! I always knew we'd find you eventually!"

Tony could see the muscles on Steve's back were rigid, but Howard didn't seem to notice his reluctance. And soon enough, Steve relaxed and raised his arms to return the hug—not as enthusiastic, but warm. Tony tried not to feel betrayed. 

"It's good to see you, too, Howard, but—"

"So, when did they find you? And who did? Was it the Stark Expedition? Ah, what am I saying, it must have been, no one else is looking anymore. Obi kept trying to tell me it was a waste of money, but I knew we'd find you one day, Steve! I knew! I never lost faith in you."

Tony thought back fondly to the memory of Yinsen cutting open his chest in a cave without benefit of anesthetics. It had hurt so much less than this. 

Bruce put an arm around him and whispered, "If you want to go before he sees you, we'll cover you."

Tony shook his head and straightened his shoulders. He had faced a murderous alien army backed by these people. He could face one lousy genius millionaire philanthropist.

Tony took a deep breath and stepped next to Steve. Steve looked at him sideways, silently asking if he should go. Tony shook his head minutely. 

His father still had taken no notice of him, eyes glued to Steve, prattling on about how the sun shone out off—no, that wasn't fair. None of this was Steve's fault. 

Tony cleared his throat. "Heya, Dad."

Howard stopped mid-word and looked at him. His eyes widened. "Tony?"

He nodded. "Hey, you remember me. Thought for a moment there..." He gestured to Steve with his head, grinning as if it was a joke. 

Unfortunately, while Tony would have had no problem listing off dozens of ways in which his father didn't know him at all, this was one he knew. Howard rolled his eyes, "Please tell me that at your age, you're not still playing that 'Daddy never pays enough attention to me!' tune." He looked at Steve. "I'm sorry. He's always been difficult."

Steve's face froze. "Your son," he said, every word as sharp and hard at the knives currently cutting through Tony's guts, "is one of the best men I've ever known." 

The worst thing was, Howard looked genuinely confused. Like he couldn't believe Captain America would lie to him, but couldn't believe what he was saying, either. 

Tony realized he wasn't breathing. Well, that was convenient. Maybe he could pass out and escape that way. 

What Howard finally settled on was, "Do you know him well?"

Steve's face distorted in a fury Tony had never seen on him before. "Better than I ever knew you," he spat. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then visibly bit it back and half-turned to Tony. "We'll leave on your word." Steve stood back, disengaging from the conversation while still staying right behind Tony's shoulder, backing him up. 

Howard looked at Steve in shock, then turned back to Tony. "You're embarrassing me in front of Captain America, boy!"

Tony blinked, genuinely lost for words. 

"I do not agree," Thor's deep voice sounded from the door. There was a growl in it that reminded Tony of the Hulk. Or maybe he was just thinking of the Other Guy because he could hear Bruce do the rhythmic breathing exercise he did when he really needed to fight to keep from changing. 

"I think," Thor continued, "that you embarrass yourself, more than I have ever seen any father do. My brother was abandoned and left to die by Laufey, king of the Frost Giants, and I'm not sure I could fairly call Laufey a worse father than you." 

"Tony, if you need me to have a little accident with a stray arrow in here, Nat's just disabled all room surveillance." Clint's voice was light, but with a steel edge underneath that meant he was dead serious. 

"I think," Bruce said, very quietly, "He could just about fit into this room without breaking much. And I'm pretty sure his smashing would—not be aimed at anything important."

Bruce didn't mean it, Tony knew. The thought of the Hulk killing anyone at all was abhorrent to him. But it meant a lot that he would say it. 

Howard looked around at the team, then back at Tony. "Who are these people? Your collection of broken little friends, just like those silly robot toys you used to build?"

And suddenly, Tony could breathe again. More than that, he could laugh. "Yes," he said, grinning into Howard Stark's confused face. "That's exactly who they are. My friends. My team. Every one of them just as silly and broken as me. And mine."

He turned on his heel and headed for the door. He heard the team fall in behind him without hesitation. Just like he knew they would.

The last thing he heard before Thor slammed the door with a very satisfying bang was Howard's quiet, "But—Steve?" 

Without another glance back, Tony turned towards the hangar where they'd parked the Quinjet. "So, shawarma and a movie. Who's in?" 

Five happy agreements and a warm arm around his shoulders. What more could he ever need?

The End


End file.
